The Last Protector (21 page)

"Uh-oh,” Nalia said, “we stayed out a little too late.” As she spoke, the rain began, a few drops that within seconds became a downpour.

Scrornuck pulled out the brim of his floppy hat until it shielded most of his shoulders from the deluge, and smiled a smug smile. “Waterproof."

Jape searched the pockets of his cape for an umbrella. “Don't bother,” Nalia said, counting softly to herself, “it'll be over right about—now."

Sure enough, the rain stopped, leaving them on a sparkling clean street. Scrornuck folded up the brim of his hat, Jape ran his fingers through his hair, trying to squeeze out some of the moisture, and Nalia simply waited for the next breeze.

Though it was well after midnight, Temple Square was bustling. Flames poured from the Dragon's mouth, illuminating the Square with a flickering yellow light as the faithful clustered around the altars, feeding the sacrificial fires.

As the three passed the Temple porch, a dozen young men and women suddenly blocked their path. Scrornuck recognized them as the Servants of Spafu, one of the gangs that had been brawling here the night before.

"Hey, you!” Their leader pointed at Scrornuck. “Aren't you that heretic who refuses to offer his fancy boots to the Friendly Dragon?"

"I think you should step aside,” Jape suggested softly.

The Servants didn't budge. “He's blasphemed in the presence of the Priest,” one said. “Does he think his feet are more worthy than Spafu?"

"It's time he learned a little respect!” the leader said.

"Ferinianne!” Nalia stuck a finger in the leader's face. “You know it's against the rules to harm a guest!"

"Don't worry about that,” Scrornuck said angrily. He handed Nalia his jacket, which bore the Guest tag. “Now I'm just like you."

Jape addressed the gang's leader in a soft but firm voice. “I really wouldn't pick a fight with him tonight."

A big, muscular thug laughed sarcastically. “Him? I'll bust the runt in half with one punch!"

"You shouldn't talk like that,” Jape warned. “You'll make him mad."

"Oh, I'm so afraid!” Ferinianne jabbed Scrornuck's chest with his finger.

Scrornuck clenched his fists a few times and muttered, very softly, “I'm gonna enjoy this."

"Mister Saughblade—” Scrornuck froze, knowing that if the Ranger ordered him to walk away with his tail between his legs, he would. Smiling, Jape said, “Have fun."

The dozen Servants of Spafu quickly formed into a circle around Scrornuck. “Say goodbye to those fancy boots,” Ferinianne sneered. “They'll be up on the altar in a second."

"Think so?” Scrornuck folded his hands behind his back as he faced the leader, standing steadily, as if the dozen beers hadn't affected him in the least. Slowly, he raised his left foot, watching the way the Servants’ eyes followed it. “Take a close look—are you
sure
your lizard wants these?"

He smiled as he heard Nalia whisper to Jape, “Is this really fair? There's what, twelve of them? Against one of him? And he's been drinking all night to boot."

"No, it's not fair,” Jape replied. “But these punks deserve a lesson."

As Ferinianne stared at the boot, Scrornuck said in a soft, conspiratorial voice, “You want to see some real blasphemy, guys?” He tore off his ratty shirt and spun around to make sure all the Servants got a good look at his unauthorized dragon.

The gang screamed with rage at the sight of the sacrilegious tattoo, and as one they charged. Scrornuck spun, jumped and kicked, sending one Servant after another sprawling on the pavement. He kept his hands folded neatly behind him, feeling a desire to beat the snot out of these guys using only the boots that their lizard so desired. Obeying Jape's command to have fun, he cracked heads, bloodied noses, knocked out teeth and generally did unto the Servants of Spafu what he wished he could do unto Tremmlowe. After a few minutes, most of the gang lay in a heap on the pavement, and Scrornuck stood over them with a broad grin on his face. It had been positively therapeutic.

"Put this on, Mister Saughblade—now!” Jape hissed, tossing Scrornuck his jacket. “We don't need more trouble!"

"They started it,” Scrornuck said, as he slipped into the jacket.

"Behind you!” Nalia called. Scrornuck whirled and saw Ferinianne approaching, one hand held to his bloody nose, the other brandishing a long knife decorated with images of the Friendly Dragon. Son-of-a-bitch has my souvenir, he thought, as he raised his leg and kicked, sending the Servant sprawling on the pavement. Several members of the gang picked themselves up, drew their swords and edged closer. Scrornuck cracked his knuckles in anticipation. He might have to use his hands, after all.

"That's enough!” the voice of the High Priest boomed across the Square. “Is this any way to treat a guest in our fair city?"

"We were just trying to teach him a little respect,” Ferinianne gurgled as he got to his feet and stuffed the elaborate knife into his belt.

"And when were you appointed to do the mighty Dragon's work for him?"

"We were just going to get those fancy boots,” another Servant said.

"By force?” Rosaiah bellowed. “Have you not read the sacred books? Have you not heard that Spafu himself laid down the Rule that guests are not to be harmed? It is not up to you to determine when this stranger will make his offering!"

"Yesterday you said he would be humbled—"

"And humbled he shall be! But Spafu shall do the humbling, not you! Now go, get to your homes and gather your sacrifices, for you have defamed the Dragon's name in front of visitors.” Ferinianne flashed a hate-filled glare at Scrornuck as he and his gang scuttled off toward the Cast Quarter. Rosaiah bowed graciously to Scrornuck. “My apologies for the behavior of some of my flock. Now go in peace, but know this—you will present your offering before the Fortnight of Sacrifice is out!"

"In your dreams, lizard-boy,” Scrornuck muttered as they left the Square.

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Jape hurried through the twisting streets of the Cast Quarter, a spring in his step and a smile on his face as he anticipated the information he'd get from Tremmlowe this Friday evening. Nalia followed, alternately smiling and frowning as if unsure whether she really wanted to be here. Scrornuck brought up the rear, dragging his feet like a man on the way to his own execution. The children of Temple Square, who had been making a game of trying to peek under his kilt, took one look his angry scowl and decided to keep their distance.

Scrornuck had reason to scowl. He'd spent his morning by the pool, trying to burn off his hangover and his frustration by swinging Ol’ Red at an endless stream of heavy-duty practice rounds. As he grimly swatted down one target after another, muttering a mantra of
Draggott, Captain, Tremmlowe,
Nalia appeared on the balcony. For a second their eyes met. Then she turned away, and a round nailed him between the eyes with the force of a small firecracker, leaving a smear of soot and blood on his forehead and a nasty ringing in his ears.

Then Jape, saying that the meeting with Tremmlowe was going to be a special occasion, had insisted that everyone dress up. About the only “formal” thing Scrornuck had was the big piece of red tartan that spent most of its time being used as a blanket. Washing, drying, folding and pleating the big piece of wool into a traditional great-kilt had taken most of the afternoon—he was more than a little out of practice after nearly three years of simply slipping into his everyday utility-style kilts, with their permanent pleats and fasteners. Still, when he saw his reflection in a shop window, he had to admit he cut a dashing figure. The kilt swung nicely as he walked, and the swatch of plaid that wrapped over his shoulder, secured by a big, dragon-headed brooch to his short-sleeved black leather shirt, made him look less skinny, almost muscular. Of course, his armored jacket didn't fit over this outfit, but Jape was quite certain they were in for a safe evening. Somehow the assurance didn't make Scrornuck feel any better.

Syb's was packed when the three arrived, and for a minute it looked like they'd be unable to find a seat. But Tremmlowe had already staked his claim to a table up front by the tiny stage. “Best seats in the house,” Jape said as he sat, placing Nalia between himself and Tremmlowe.

Scrornuck remained standing, studying Tremmlowe carefully. Though his clothing was snappy and fashionable, the man himself looked bland and unassuming. If Tremmlowe and Jape were to stand side by side, it would be hard to determine who was less visible. Maybe Tremmlowe, for his eyes lacked the intensity of Jape's—they were a dull, lifeless brown, and the left one appeared to have a film over it. On the other hand, Tremmlowe had the irritating habit of constantly dabbing his runny nose with a handkerchief.

On Tremmlowe's right, a dark-haired woman sat bolt upright, wearing a gray outfit that looked almost like a military uniform. She stared at Scrornuck as if inspecting a roach she'd found on the floor. One of Tremmlowe's bodyguards, he thought—and felt his instincts sounding an alarm when the words
Tremmlowe
and
bodyguard
came together in a single thought.

Rounding out the table were two giggly women whom Scrornuck immediately nicknamed Blondie and Blue Eyes. They had apparently been brought along to keep him busy, for the only remaining seat was between them. Reluctantly, he sat and prepared himself for what he expected would be An Evening in Hell With A Wine List.

Or more correctly, Hell With A Whine List. The evening's “entertainment” was again the self-pitying singer at the out-of-tune piano, wallowing even deeper in misery than he had the previous night. Scrornuck took what comfort he could in repeated pints of Batatat's Stout, but the beer did little more than give his kidneys a workout.

I got a full, full bladder and an empty heart, he thought as he made his way to the men's room. Sounds like a song that guy would sing. The thought gave him his first smile of the evening, and a back corner of his mind started putting words together.

When Scrornuck returned, he found Tremmlowe and Nalia flirting openly. He made little remarks in her ear and stroked her hand, she laughed at his double-entendres and let him pick out her drinks, and both sat closer together as the night wore on. Scrornuck shot an accusing glance at Jape, but received no response.

The two giggly women did their best to strike up a conversation. “Ooh,” Blondie said, noticing the tip of the tattoo peeking out of Scrornuck's shirt sleeve, “what's this?” She pushed up his sleeve to get a better look. He gently pushed it back down, she pushed it up, and he pushed it down again.

"I wanna see!” She lifted the sleeve a third time.

"Fine.” He yanked up the sleeve to give her a good look.

"Ooh,” she said, staring at the flaming snake.

He casually undid her top shirt button. “You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

She glanced for an instant at Tremmlowe, and then returned her attention to the tattoo. “How far up does that thing go, anyway?"

Scrornuck loosened the leather lacing that closed his shirt-collar and pulled it open a little. “Have a look."

"Oooh.” She reached to loosen the lacing further.

He grabbed her wrist gently but firmly. “From here on, it's tit-for-tat."

Jape rolled his eyes, Blondie and Blue Eyes giggled, and Nalia stared at her drink as if trying to ignore the whole business. Then Tremmlowe whispered something to the woman in gray, who nodded and stood. Scrornuck immediately leaped to his feet, and the two bodyguards glared at each other for a tense moment.

"Is something wrong?” Tremmlowe asked, his voice dripping innocence. “We merely recalled that an important paper is missing and needs to be fetched.” He gestured, and the bodyguard pivoted on one heel and departed.

"Do you think that's wise?” Jape asked.

"We promised you complete information, and intend to deliver. Besides, are we not among friends here?” He put an arm around Nalia's shoulder and whispered something in her ear.

That was too much for Scrornuck. He threw the table aside as though it were cardboard, sending drinks flying as he advanced on Tremmlowe, fists raised. “I've had enough of you..."

Jape jumped up, barring Scrornuck's way with an outstretched arm. Scrornuck, who could have easily tossed Jape aside or broken his arm like a matchstick, stopped in his tracks. “Outside, Mister Saughblade,” Jape said in an icy voice. “Now!"

Scrornuck lowered his fists and walked slowly to the door. His shoulders drooped, his feet dragged, and if he had had a tail it would have been tucked firmly between his legs.

He waited for Jape in the dark alley behind Syb's, arms crossed, one foot on the pavement, the other flat against the wall in a position of defiance he'd once seen in a biker flick. Should have punched out Tremmlowe last night, he thought.

"Explain yourself, Mister Saughblade,” Jape said as he stepped into the alley. His voice was soft and controlled. “Just what were you doing in there?"

"What was
I
doing?” Scrornuck's reply was anything but soft. “What were
you
doing—what are you doing now? You've left Nalia alone with that slimeball..."

"Mister Saughblade! Have you forgotten that Tremmlowe has information we need?” He sighed. “What have I told you about getting involved with locals? Romantic entanglements get in the way of our work."

Scrornuck rose to his full height and stared down at Jape. “That's easy for you to say! You've got a life, you've got a family, you've got a home to go back to when the job's done. What have I got to look forward to? Getting killed in the line of duty? And if I live, are you going to send me back to my village to dig in the mud for the rest of my life?” He again slouched against the wall. “I finally meet somebody who can give me a reason to keep living once the mission is over—and you screw it up! Give me one good reason I shouldn't go back in there and break that little shit's face.” Clenching his fists, he took a step toward the door.

"Look at me, Mister Saughblade.” Jape's tone was cold, authoritative, and left no room for questions. Against his will, Scrornuck slowly turned and lowered his gaze until he stared straight into the deep, intense blue pools of Jape's eyes. “Once upon a time you made a promise. Do you remember what you said?"